


Substitution

by shiverelectric



Category: Inception
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverelectric/pseuds/shiverelectric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Robert couldn't be enough, he would make himself enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://koushi.livejournal.com/profile)[**koushi**](http://koushi.livejournal.com/), without who’s prompt this fic never would have been (so you can blame her for this madness my head has wrought xD). Follows [Displacement](http://archiveofourown.org/works/169478).

Robert finds himself in yet another meeting set up by Uncle Peter, both seated at the diametric ends of the long conference table. It's already been two hours long, and looks to still have steam left in it yet. He leans back in his executive chair and taps the point of the fountain pen against the legal documents in front of him, making the ink stain the crisp white pages. He doesn't think anyone will notice, they're all too enthralled by the development plan Browning is proposing.

He huffs a sharp exhale through his nose, looking at the people preparing to follow the direction of his father's right hand. But Robert is still the left hand, soon to be the head, and he won't just let _his_ inheritance be deliberated and decided on so easily.

"That's all well and good," he begins when Browning deigns to pause for his input, as if he values Robert's opinion though everyone in the room knew he didn't, himself included. "But you're forgetting we're already tracking above this quarter's projected profit margins, and that's before we've even completed the new African oil line. This," Robert waves an impugning hand, indicating the presentation of charts and figures, "all seems excessive. You're building contingency plans for situations that are very unlikely to pass." He doesn't add that barely lurking underneath the surface, it's just his uncle's way of instilling himself into other positions of power in the company. But there's no need as everyone in the room already knows, he can see it in their eyes when they all turn to look at him.

Except for him, that same aide as before. He looks at Robert with a carefully blank expression, unlike the other opportunists, ready to rally behind his godfather's stratagem that would certainly make their pockets a bit heavier and it shows on their faces.

Robert slides his eyes away from the aide to his godfather when he nearly misses his reply. Suddenly he cares very little for whatever their words were to accomplish at the meeting. He swivels his chair sideways, his back to the assistant, and as the meeting resumes he drags the pen repeatedly across a small section of the document. The sharp end digs in, ink staining the shredding paper the color of midnight.

By the time the meeting finishes up another two hours later, it’s well after ten at night. Amid the sound of rustling papers, briefcases closing, and small talk as the others begin to pack and leave, Browning asks, “Robert, do you have a moment?”

“What is it, Uncle Peter,” he says evenly, keeping the fatigue and strain from his voice.

“Listen, I just want you to know that I’m doing this all for you,” he assures Robert as he clasps a hand on his shoulder, voice hushed like it’s a secret he’s letting Robert in on. “I only have your best interests in mind, and want to see you be successful, just like your father was.”

“Is,” Robert replies, without thinking, “my father is successful.” He pauses at the fleeting grimace that passes over Browning’s face. Robert smiles too widely then and says, “But I know, thank you, Uncle Pete.”

Browning gives him a small smile in return, then as he makes his way out of the boardroom, the smile on Robert’s face slips down into a tight scowl. His eyes cut sideways and the aide is still there, but this time he looks caught out, as if he hadn’t planned to be in the same room with Robert.

With a determined step he moves to the aide’s side and stares into the grey eyes that have recovered that carefully guarded look. “You,” Robert says, placing his palm firmly on the table, “will come with me. I have something to discuss with you.”

The aide clears his throat and licks his lips, which Robert finds downright indecent. When he flicks his eyes back up to grey, he sees traces of a smile and an easy laugh, though his voice (British accent, Robert notes) is quiet and subdued like any other groveling underling. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Fischer, but it is very late in the evening and I really must be going…”

Robert’s eyes darken a fraction and narrow at the aide’s attempt to brush him off. “I wasn’t requesting your time,” he says steadily in a low tone that leaves no room for opposition, and when he turns to leave the boardroom, the aide follows a step behind.


End file.
